


i know that you have daddy issues

by ericherries



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dream Smp, Hallucinations?, M/M, Makeouts, POV First Person, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ending, from quackitys pov, ghost!schlatt, glatt, schlatts dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ericherries/pseuds/ericherries
Summary: Quackity finds himself relying on some negative coping mechanisms after Schlatt's death, just to stop the pain.Although he finds an alternative when Schlatt comes back to him.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt
Comments: 3
Kudos: 125





	i know that you have daddy issues

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I'll get rid of this if either cc states that they don't like it (but what they don't know doesn't hurt them lmao).

I didn’t cry when he left me, but now he’s dead and my eyes shake and twist in heavy fear. Everyone’s silent as they watch, carefully aware of the pain I’m radiatiting. Where did he go? I feel his presence with me as they drag his deathly cage along. My lungs tremble as I breathe, I push all of my effort into the small task. Dark walls approach his body, shadows stretching under the blackened sky. They reach and grasp him, trying to carve their grim words into the wood. The bodies stop walking, laying the casket down, whispers echo in my ears. I’m not entirely here. The wood starts to burn. My eyes sting with ferocious blunder. I can’t watch. My feet pull me away from the scene. Someone tries to grasp my hand but I barely feel it. I can’t even feel the pain anymore, can’t remember what it's supposed to feel like. My walk begins to speed up as the shadows chase me. They beg me to cry, to feel, to think, but I do not. I run as fast as I can, away from the demons making their home in his coffin. They’re trying to haunt me. They’re trying to ruin me.

I spot the place where his white house used to be, instead there resides two small trees, as if they were taunting me with their life. I feel rage lick at my fingertips. I trudge up the hill, the idle trees shuddering under the gust of wind. I watch as they sway before me. Clenching my fist, I shatter the last piece of restraint I have, his voice flooding my ears of tormented memories. Thunder cracks as I bring my fist onto the thin branches. I rip and tear at the defenceless wood. I twist the small plant, yanking it apart. As I destroy the thing, I feel him behind me, yelling and swearing, ready to hit me. I ignore the hallucination behind me, continuing to slash the tree, until it becomes nothing. I don’t even realise it has started raining until the wood becomes a measly stump. Bark and branches lie around, drowning in the marshy ground. My eyes move to the second tree. It shakes and shudders under the intense rain; I feel a slight regret in my bones. I pity the small being. I don’t want to feel anymore. Where did he go?

I walk away. The rain pounds at me but I find myself not bothering to care. My shirt’s soaked, dripping liquid onto the ground. I begin to wonder how long it’s been since his funeral started, but in the distance someone’s house is brightly lit, so I assume it’s over already. I barely register that it’s Karl’s house, I feel an urge to go there, my body begging me for some kind of company, but I ignore it, craving another form of relief.

When I reach my home I can no longer feel my hands. I look down and see them raw and red. I push the door open slightly, my body falling into it. I regret my choice not to go and see Karl, but I forget my craving when I see something across the room.

Schlatt’s favourite whiskey.

I remember him asking me to try some once, the memory twisting it’s way into my mind. He stands in front of the cabinet in my living room, he’s holding the bottle towards me, asking if I want any but I shake my head. A word of encouragement and I find myself sauntering towards him, a deep smile etched onto my face. He hands me a glass, taking a sip from his. I take it, holding the small glass to my nose, turning it up at the smell, he snickers at me and I glare back at him. Hesitantly, I take a small sip, the burning alcohol reaching the back of my throat suddenly. I splutter and cough at the bitter taste, shoving the glass back to him. He protrudes a loud belly laugh at the sight, and I find myself smiling again.

Bitter liquid touches the back of my throat, making my lips twist in disgust. I don’t smile. Instead, I find myself pouring more into my mouth. If it worked for him, it can work for me. I can feel his presence with me again, I blame it on the alcohol and continue drinking. His whispers fill the room but I ignore them, I find myself lighting one of his cigarettes that he stocked away, the flame burning my finger tips. I put it in between my lips, breathing in the itchy smoke, some leaking from my mouth, forming a cloud in front of me. The vapours begin to form a shape, as if they were avoiding somebody. I raise the bottle upwards, silently saying cheers to his spirit. He whispers to me again, louder this time; I close my eyes. I can’t feel anymore. I don’t even notice the ash burning into my fingers, or the bottle being taken from my grasp. Even the pain was hindered, what once was horrific suffering has now become some an uncomfortable sting. I can’t feel anything. I silently beg for something, self pity swallowing my chest. The only thing I can feel is a soft pressure on my lips.

My eyes snap open. A ghostly figure stands before me, as if his body wasn’t entirely there. In my drunken state I splutter and shake.

“Schlatt?”

He doesn’t answer me, instead he comes closer, pressing his ghoulish lips onto mine again. In my shocked state I don’t even think as I kiss him back. I suddenly wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him as close as I physically can, never letting go. He feels like a drug on my tongue, my ability to feel roaring awake with his touch, his cool hands grasp my waist, pushing me to the wall. I gasp as the icy glass shocks the skin on my back, I can feel his smirk against my lips. Strange nostalgia floods my senses, of what used to be. The feeling causes hot tears to spill past my eyes, this was him. Mi amor. Before all the crazed fights and shattered bottles. He’s come back to me. He pulls away slightly at the feeling of my tears on his cheeks, but I don’t let him pull away too far, as if he would disappear if I let go. A look of worry is plastered on his face.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“You have no idea how much I missed you.” I mutter, smiling.

He grins, wiping away my tears, “Missed you too.”

I push myself onto him again, eyes shut. I’m desperate for his touch, he returns the feeling as I feel a deep pressure on my neck, hands roaming under my shirt roughly, his leg pushing itself between mine, ripping a gasp from my throat. I can hear him snicker, his hot breath warming the skin on my neck, making me shudder. I whisper his name in ecstasy, his sharp claw-like nails gently scratching my waist. My heart quickens, blood spreading through me, like he could control my entire being with just his whispers. His mouth leaves my neck, smirking at the sight of a hickey beginning to form on my skin, before diving back onto lips, making my back arch slightly, pushing myself into him even more. His kiss is deep and desperate, like I am the most important thing in the universe. He craved for my touch as much as I did his. I can feel his tongue on mine, almost clashing his teeth into my own while doing so. The moment seemed to last forever. We’re finally together again, the old us, the versions of ourselves that weren't torn with war and power, when we only cared about each other and nothing else. My soul suddenly felt like it had been filled, it had been torn apart when he left me, and now it’s whole again. His touch fulfilled me. His hands slowly left their spot from my waist and found my cheeks, a warmth spreading over them at the feeling. I smile against his lips, his hovering close, but not enough to touch.

“I’m sorry.”

A sickening dread overcomes me and I open my eyes.

He isn’t there.

The hot touch from his hands and mouth had been replaced by the icy air, a terrible breath filling my lungs. I cough feeling the salt liquid on my tongue. I fall to my knees. Horrific sobs echoing through the leaden, desolate house. I could only feel the unbearable pain. I wasn’t numb anymore. He had given me my feelings back, and instead replaced them with the worst, most deadly torture. Although I couldn’t find myself wishing it hadn’t happened. It left a gruesome taste in my blood but I did not regret seeing him, even if it was for the last time. 

Where did he go?


End file.
